The Paths of Righteousness
by AlanSchezar
Summary: What is left when honor is stripped away and everyone you love is taken from you? A disgraced and exiled Paladin faces an implacable foe bent on shattering his tattered soul, but finds one true heart that still believes in him.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

It's funny, he thought, how at times like these certain images from your past force their way into your consciousness.

The cold rain was pelting down mercilessly, streaming the blood from his scalp down over his face and into the wet grass of the sullen graveyard. He lay there among the stones, sensing that what would surely be a most inglorious end must be soon upon him. A demon from his past, a vile creature he had thought he sent to the deepest pits of Hell, was even now hunting him down, yet in his semi-conscious daze the images of his old life came flooding back and washed him away into dreams as he waited for death…

"Alan…Alan?"

"Hmm?"

"The progress of the war troubles you…" she whispered in his ear, her soft, supple fingers sliding up through his hair as she pressed her breasts against his back, only a thin silken gown between his flesh and hers, "but your faith has always seen you through. Why are you so burdened now?"

Alan Schezar heaved a heavy sigh, letting his steely grey eyes slip closed as his fingers caressed the bare arm of his lover, tracing along her ashen blue skin to entwine with her own. He allowed himself to sink into her presence in that moment, his eyes closed, his senses attuned to her every breath, and find a brief peace amid a time of upheaval and turmoil. "We will win, eventually…their alliance cannot last forever, and eventually their greed will force them apart as they turn on one another. We stopped them from taking the last castle they besieged and we can stop them again…but this is not what troubles me. Grindrolas has been…edgy of late, and I sense he is hiding something from me."

"Are you saying you no longer trust him?" she asked, resting her head against his shoulder.

Alan turned around to face his lover and examined her with his steely gaze. She was very beautiful, and it always gave him pause when he looked at her that way, gazing deeply into her eyes. She was a dark elf, tall and slender, but strong. Her long, snow white hair fell freely down her back and over her shoulders, framed by the long, pointed ears characteristic of her species. Many feared her gaze, the resolute determination in her eyes, but it was one of the things the Paladin loved most dearly about Mistress Darsh, as her subordinates called her. He slid his arms around her and drew her close, shaking his head, "No, Darsh, you know I trust Grindrolas with my very life, and he trusts me with his. We are blood brothers of the Steel Cross, and nothing, not even death can change that. But I sense that he too is burdened, and there is something he is keeping from me. There has been trouble in the Brotherhood of late…I fear some of the new initiates do not truly understand the meaning of our oath…"

"Shhhh…" she interrupted him with an ashen fingertip over his lips, "Forget about this…tonight is for us, my Paladin. Now come…"

She took his hand, pulling him toward the bed and away from the golden rays of the setting sun that streamed through his open window, shimmering over the rooftops of Aden castle town. He laid her down, straddling her body and letting his lips caress her flesh, losing himself in her maddening scent, his fingertips gliding down her sides.

She moaned appreciatively at his caresses, running her fingertips down his back and over the large scarification that was permanently branded into his body. She stroked her fingers first across, then down, marking the sign of the Steel Cross that had charred his flesh when he first became a Paladin. She did not know him then, but she had come to love the purity of honour and duty that drove him to brand himself forever with the mark of his Brotherhood, to suffer such agony in order to cleanse his spirit and show his undying devotion to the virtues of their cause: Veritas, Aequitas, Fidelitas – Truth, Justice, Faithfulness. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tightly, biting firmly into his neck in show of her powerful affection. He returned the gesture by running his tongue softly along her ear, a caress which made her entire body quiver with pleasure and need…

Suddenly the passion and intimacy of that moment was shattered as the door of Alan's flat burst from its hinges and crashed to the floor, armed men pouring inside. In a flash of pure rage and adrenaline, Alan leaped from the bed, grasping his sword as he threw himself at the attackers. In a single stroke he decapitated the first enemy through the door, the unfortunate man's blood spattering the enraged Paladin's face as the headless corpse dropped to the stone floor. Another attacker dashed forward and struck out, aiming to pierce Alan's heart, but he deftly deflected the blow and smashed the hilt of his blade into the soldier's face, sending him reeling backward into one of his comrades. Taking the opportunity, Alan leapt for his shield, grasping it just as another attacker fired his crossbow. The bolt tore through the embattled Paladin's shoulder, but he replied with a crushing blow from his shield, stunning the opponent long enough for him to slash open his chest with a power strike.

There were six of them left now, but they were all dressed in the armour of the town guards. Alan stepped back, placing himself between Darsh and the onslaught. She too had taken up her shield and sword, and was preparing to cast a life drain spell on them. His mind had slowed enough from the initial rush of fury that he could speak, and he roared indignantly at them, "What is the meaning of this!? I am Paladin Alan Schezar of the Steel Cross Brotherhood! If you are town guards, then lay down your weapons and explain yourself or I will slay every one of you!"

"That is quite enough, Paladin."

Alan was shocked at the voice which emanated from outside his shattered door, a voice he knew well. As he watched in awe, a tall, gaunt figure in a long white robe and wearing the tall, peaked ecclesiastical cap of an Archbishop of the Holy Church stepped inside. He paused a moment to survey the carnage, noting the two slain guards with a look of mild disgust, "Quite a mess you've made, Alan."

The Paladin was in shock; this was the Archbishop of Aden, Alexius Holbein, one of the most powerful men in the Holy Church, "Y…your grace…what is the meaning of this?! How dare you…?!"

"HOW DARE _YOU_, PALADIN!?" the Archbishop screeched back at him, gritting his teeth and clenching his withered fingers into tight fists, "How dare you bring disgrace to Einhasad's Holy Church by fornicating with this…this filthy whore of Shilen!"

"Bastard!" Darsh screamed, lunging forward and raising her sword to strike the head from the churchman's shoulders. She was slammed hard in the chest by a kick from one of the guards, who quickly pinned her down and raised his blade, aiming to pierce her heart. "Blasphemous wench!" he snorted.

Alan flung his blade, impaling the guard through the thigh. The hapless soldier collapsed to the floor and writhed, screaming in pain as blood gushed from his gaping wound.

"ENOUGH!" Roared the archbishop as he raised his hands, "Stay your blades, all of you! You will submit to my authority and come peacefully into custody, Paladin Alan Schezar, in the name of Einhasad I command it!"

Alan threw aside his shield and knelt before the bishop, the burning rage in his eyes not fading for a moment though his demeanor calmed slightly, "Archbishop Holbein, this was not necessary! You know that you need only have said the word and I would have laid down my arms and submitted to your authority…these men did not have to die!"

Holbein smirked, crossing his arms, "This from a Paladin who lies with a daughter of Shilen? Surely the Devil's magic has made you mad…"

Alan growled indignantly, rising to his feet and staring dead into the eyes of the wizened bishop, his steely gaze colder than death itself, "Archbishop," he began, his voice low and ominous, "Mistress Darsh is no servant of Shilen, she is an honourable knight, and a righteous woman. You know just as well as I do that nothing whatsoever in the Paladin's code and way forbids him from loving a woman of his choosing, and so it has been since the first days of Chivalry! I warn you only once, Archbishop, not to force me to defend the honour of my lady, for you know nothing of the blood demanded by the Knights Code of such a disgraceful insult!"

A moment of silence passed as the Archbishop suddenly became quite uneasy; the look in Alan's eyes told him without mistake that the Paladin meant every word. "No more talk," he said at length, deciding it best not to push the enraged Paladin any further; his temper was known throughout the kingdom, and those who truly angered him often did not live through it. "Guards, take him away to the Cathedral, he will stand under Inquisition one week hence."

Darsh moved to defend him as the guards unceremoniously grabbed hold of him, but Alan shook his head at her. She lowered her sword and shield and watched helplessly as they dragged him from his home, leaving her alone with the Archbishop. "_You will suffer for this…_" he heard her tell him, to which a bemused chuckle was Holbein's only reply.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"_Yea though I have dwelt in darkness, deliver me into the light…"_

The full moon shone brightly through the inky stillness of the autumn night, casting its pale shafts of light through the bars of the cold, shadowy cell and over its occupant. The pallid light shone around the Paladin who knelt in prayer on the straw matting that covered the icy stone floor, shimmering over his bare back and illuminating the cross shaped burn scar that stretched from shoulder to shoulder and from the base of his neck to the small of his back.

"_Let only truths pass my lips,_

_Let my blade rise up in righteous vengeance against the wicked,_

_And bring justice and mercy to the innocent._

_Let my feet stray not from the paths of righteousness,_

_Let my heart be not afraid in the face of evil…"_

Nearby, the graceful, armoured figure of Mistress Darsh stood bathed in shadow at the edge of a window opposite Alan's cell, her long, flowing white hair dancing lazily in the cool autumn breeze that blew through the open tower window. She watched in silence as Alan recited the creed of the Steel Cross, his faith and conviction unfaltering even in the midst of such dire times.

"_What is dark in me illumine, what is low raise up,_

_That I may become a holy shield and righteous sword,_

_The vengeful striking hammer of justice!_

_Until the long night is ended, and dawn shines eternal,_

_Veritas, Aequitas, Fidelitas…"_

"Amen."

Alan rose to his feet and turned around in surprise as the final word was spoken in harmony, another voice he knew well joining in. There at the bars of his small cell stood the high born elf Grindrolas, leader of The Steel Cross Brotherhood. He was of moderate height, a little shorter than Alan, and of the deceptively wispy build typical of the elven race. He had short cropped platinum blonde hair that fell across his right eye, partially obscuring it. His azure blue eyes bore a pained, weary expression, as though he had slept very little recently. He was dressed in his ornate dwarven crafted chain mail armour and his dual katanas hung from his belt. The elf smiled weakly, holding out a heavy woolen blanket through the bars, "I convinced the guards to allow you to have this…it's liable to be a long, cold night for you tonight, my brother."

Alan smiled warmly in return, taking the blanket and laying it on the nearby cot that would serve as his bed, "Thank you, Grindrolas."

The elf heaved a deep sigh, crossing his arms and gazing at his imprisoned second in command, "How in the world did this happen, Alan? They said you killed two town guards…"

Alan smirked slightly, shaking his head, "What would you have done if they had smashed in your door and rushed you with weapons drawn, and fully armoured? I thought it was the Alliance dogs coming for my head. It turned out the Archbishop himself came to arrest me."

"Archbishop Holbein?!" Grindrolas exclaimed, astounded at what he was hearing, "Alan, what in the name of Eva is this all about?!"

"Apparently," Alan began, sighing slightly and crossing his arms, "I am charged with Heresy against the Church and dereliction of my duty as a Knight of the Venerable Order."

"What rubbish is that?!" Grindrolas was incensed now, to hear such heinous accusations against his friend and blood brother, "It's a damnable lie! What possible grounds do they have to charge you!? Who would even dare?!"

Alan glanced at Darsh, then back to Grindrolas, "I…thank you for your concern, Grindy, but this is something I must deal with myself. You…aren't familiar with the laws of man's church." He turned away slightly, not wanting the elf to realize what he was really hiding, namely his relationship with Darsh.

"It's because of me."

Grindrolas and Alan both turned to Darsh as she stepped forward from the shadows. Alan began to protest, "Mistress Darsh, you don't need…" but his words were cut short as she reached through the bars and caressed his cheek, drawing him close and kissing him softly. She turned to Grindrolas, who was speechless, his eyes wide, "They are charging Alan with Heresy because of his intimacy with me. They say I am a Daughter of Shilen, and as such I have corrupted his soul…or some nonsense like that, anyway."

Grindrolas blinked in surprise a few times before shaking his head, thinking it best to stick to the problem at hand, "But there is nothing in the Paladin's code that forbids him to fall in love…is there?"

Alan shook his head, "This isn't about what's right…this is about politics, Grindrolas."

Grindrolas sank into a wooden chair by the window, running his fingers through his shimmering platinum hair as he tried to take it all in. Alan was being persecuted for a non existent crime…made a scapegoat because of the prejudices of the Church's masters. It didn't matter if he was innocent, they would make sure he paid a high price. The elf thought back through his centuries-long memory to another close friend, another blood brother who gave his life and soul to the unswerving pursuit of justice. He had to tell Alan the secret…the secret he had spoken not a word of for many lifetimes. How very alike they were, he thought, even in love…how tragic. He knew now that this was the destiny borne in Alan's blood.

"Darsh…please leave us…there is something I must speak of to Alan, privately."

Darsh's ears perked and she glanced at Grindrolas. She gazed into his azure eyes a moment before nodding and turning to leave. She stopped at the staircase, turning to glance back at Alan, "My love…I will be at your side tomorrow at the Inquisition. Farewell."

Alan watched her go, then glanced back at Grindrolas, sensing a grim, sorrowful state of mind wash over his friend's being. He stood silently as he waited for Grindrolas to speak.

"Alan," the elf began, "I've hidden something from you…something very important about you, about your past….about your blood."

"My blood?"

"Do you know how old I am, Alan?"

"About eight hundred years old, I think…isn't that right? Why do you ask me that?"

The elf turned toward the window, his body wreathed in an aura of shimmering moonlight as he gazed out over the city's rooftops. He let his hand rest over the hilt of one of his katanas, his azure eyes taking on a glazed over look, as though he were peering through the veil of the world into the past, probing his long, long memory to dredge up hidden secrets, "Have you read the Chronicles of the Steel Cross?"

Alan nodded, unsure of what his friend was getting at, "Of course, you know I've read it many times…I even had it transcribed a while ago."

"You haven't read it," Grindrolas interjected, "Not all of it. There is more to the story that you don't know…that nobody knows, except myself…and Iridia."

Alan's eyes went wide and he grabbed the bars, "Iridia?! Iridia Silvershadow is alive? But what are you getting at Grindrolas? What does that have to do with me, even if it is true?"

"Her blood flows in your veins, Alan Schezar."

Alan was struck dumb; he couldn't believe what he was hearing, "What the hell are you talking about?!"

"You know that Iridia and Kaden fell deeply in love…and that she was at his side when he was mortally wounded sealing Beleth beneath the wastelands. That she bore his body from the field of battle, and that she was there when they entombed him. She is there now, watching over her love until the end of time…she has transcended into an oracle, a being half outside this world and half inside. And she grieves for him still. But his body was not all she bore that day so long ago, Alan…" Alan could see the grief weighed heavily in his friend's eyes; he never realized how deep the wound still was, how fresh it remained even after centuries. The elf continued, his tone sombre and steady as he unburdened himself of a secret he held for nine generations of the lives of men.

"Iridia bore the child of Sir Kaden of the Iron Will, a boy named Krieger, a name that means 'warrior'. Because Krieger was a half breed of man and dark elf, he had to be carefully shielded and defended, and to help hide his true nature, he was given the human surname Schezar. You, Alan Schezar, are the heir to their bloodline."

Alan was utterly speechless; his arms dropped limply to his sides and all he could do was listen to the bewildering tale that Grindrolas unfolded before him. The high born elf took hold of the wooden chair near the window and sat down, leaning forward onto his knees and looking at the floor, "Before I met Sir Kaden, I hated the dark elves bitterly…because during the civil war between their ilk and the light elves, they savagely murdered the only woman I ever loved. Because of Kaden's courtesy…his courage and his unfaltering chivalry, and his undying belief in truth and justice, I came to reconcile my hatred for them. I came to love Iridia Silvershadow as a sister, and Kaden as a brother. His dying wish to me was that I watch over his new family and his descendants, and that I not allow the Steel Cross Brotherhood and its ideals to perish through the ages. And so since the day that Krieger was born I have watched over him, then his children, and his children's children, through hundreds of years to you, Alan. I knew you from the day you were born, and it was no accident that I met you that day at the mercenary camp of those loathsome Ol Mahum hyena-men. From the moment I saw you there, I felt you were so like Kaden…more than any of his lineage, you are _so much like him_…"

Alan fell back onto his cot, running his fingers through his long, ashen hair, smirking ironically now as he realized that his unusual hair color was no doubt a result of the dark elf blood that flowed in his veins. The blood of the magically endowed dark elves would also explain his strong spiritual and magical abilities, and his deep, innate, and sometimes frighteningly intimate understanding of the nature and presence of evil. Was this the true reason why the Church was persecuting him now? Because they discovered that the tainted blood of Shilen's Children flowed through his veins?

"Who else knows about this, Grindrolas?"

The elf looked up into Alan's eyes, "No one. No living soul, save you, me, and Iridia. In seven centuries I have never spoken a word of this out loud, until now." There was no lie in Grindrolas' words. Alan nodded, chuckling bitterly, "They would have a field day with me if this became known…they would burn me at the stake, I'm sure."

"Alan…"

"Hm?"

"Don't ever be ashamed of this…not for a moment. The taint of the dark elves lies not in their blood, but in their hearts and their minds. Iridia Silvershadow was a good, true, and righteous woman…redeemed of the corruption and perversion of her society by her love for Kaden and his for her. Your family has always fought for justice, Alan, and they have earned their honoured name with blood. You have earned your honour with blood. Never forget that."

"Evil is always a choice," Alan said quietly. Grindrolas nodded silently in agreement.

Rising to his feet, Grindrolas turned to walk away, calling back over his shoulder as he exited, "Sleep well tonight, Brother of the Steel Cross, for tomorrow we do battle in the name of justice."

"Veritas, Aequitas, Fidelitas, my friend…" Alan replied, laying back on his cot and wrapping the warm wool blanked around himself. He lay awake a long time that night, gazing at the moon, his mind racing with the revelations his leader had provided, and imagining what rigors the morning would bring.

The morning sun was blinding as it washed over the town and flooded the cobblestone streets, the morning dew shimmering brilliantly in its warm glow. Alan had passed the early morning in prayer, and now stood clad in his shining armour at the door of the cathedral where soon his Inquisition would take place. He gazed silently at that brilliant and beautiful light as Grindrolas approached from behind, stopping a few feet inside the huge cathedral doors.

"It's time, Alan."

The Paladin nodded, not turning around, "You risk much by defending me in this Inquisition, Grindrolas…the penalties for aiding a convicted Heretic can be severe."

The elf chuckled softly, casting his gaze away from his friend and out over the shimmering holy city, "That is why I am defending an innocent man. I fear I have very little experience in such matters, though…"

Alan shook his head, "It doesn't matter…I am thankful that you are here by my side."

Without another word they stepped back into the dimness of the cathedral's interior. Behind them, the huge, solid oak doors were slowly drawn shut, the shaft of morning sunlight slipping between them becoming narrower with each passing moment until their long shadows were finally swallowed up by the dim, flickering candlelight of the monumental sanctuary. They strode down the aisle toward the altar and the towering Crucifix of Einhasad that stood behind it, the cross wreathed in the multicoloured brilliance of the back lit stained glass window behind it. Before the altar were four chairs; three comfortable looking ones upholstered in red velvet were lined up side by side facing outward toward the entrance of the cathedral, and one very old, rough, uncomfortable looking wooden chair sat alone in the middle of the area before the altar, facing the cross and the three other chairs. The old, worn and scratched chair bore blood stains and cuts as well as wear marks caused when unlucky subjects of unmerciful inquisitors had previously been bound with ropes.

Alan regarded the chair with resignation, then smirked slightly as he knelt before the altar and crossed himself, "I'm glad Darsh was not permitted to be here to see this…the Inquisition can be…unpleasant," he said wryly, taking his seat as the accused and leaning forward slightly, resting his palms over his knees. Grindrolas remained standing beside his comrade as they awaited the adjudicators.

After what seemed like an eternity had passed, one of the doors of an antechamber beside the apse opened and a tall, slender man with long, wavy black hair that hung down to his shoulders entered. He was dressed in austere black robes and a white shirt with a priestly collar. The man had gaunt features and a hawkish nose upon which perched a pair of wire rimmed spectacles with rectangular lenses. His eyes were emerald green and bore a cold, calculating look not entirely unlike that so often found in Alan's eyes. Cutting down from his left cheek across the left corner of his lip and down his chin was a long, jagged scar. In his hand the man carried a tall ecclesiastical staff of ebony and intricately wrought in the shape and texture of a tightly coiled serpent. At the top, an armoured angel, his wings spread broadly, was impaling the head of the serpent with a lance. A rosary fashioned of white oak was wrapped around the man's left wrist and hung down beside the shaft of the ebony staff. The man moved deliberately, but with a noticeable limp in his left leg. Alan's eyes widened at the sight of the man and his hands tightened their grip on his knees. The black robed man was followed first by Archbishop Holbein, clothed in his shimmering and ornate robes and his tall ecclesiastical cap, and finally by a young, plainly attired scribe who carried a pair of huge books that seemed to threaten to topple him by their bulk and weight.

The tall, dark haired man stopped before the middle seat, flanked on his right by the archbishop and on his left by the scribe. He raised his piercing eyes and stared dead into those of the Paladin, his voice low and even as he began, "I sense by your reaction you already know who I am; is that so, Paladin Alan Schezar?"

Alan nodded, "I do."

"And who am I then?"

Alan stared straight back into the eyes of his Inquisitor, as much to try and discern something about his character as to show he was not intimidated, "You are Father Agostino Talbain, an Exorcist of considerable renown and Inquisitor of the Holy Church."

Agostino stared back, "Correct," he said simply. Each of the tribunal members took their seats, and Father Agostino motioned toward Alan with his staff. The scribe set aside the first book on his chair, and then moved toward Alan with the second; it was a copy of the Holy Scriptures. The young scribe wordlessly presented the book toward Alan, his fingers trembling in fear as though he was sure the Paladin might kill him at any moment.

"Paladin Alan Schezar! I, Inquisitor Agostino Talbain adjure you in the most righteous and holy name of Einhasad, to swear upon these sacred words that you shall herein tell the truth without evasion and answer every question I ask of you with nothing but the complete and absolute truth."

"I so swear."

The Inquisitor smirked slightly, "I am glad to see you seem so…cooperative today, Paladin. Why don't you tell me why you have been brought before me today?"

Alan set his jaw, annoyed by the Inquisitor's condescension, "As you very well know, I have been accused of heresy against the Church."

The Inquisitor's cold jade stare rested on Alan's stoic form for a long while as he silently appraised the accused heretic. At length the raven haired priest slipped his spectacles from his nose and let them dangle limply from his fingertips. "Alan," he began, his voice calm and gentle in tone, "I know that you must be afraid now, for yourself as well as your consort, the dark elf. Despite what you may have heard, I am not a cruel man; you need only confess fully to me and I will ensure a fair and merciful penance, and that the dark elf is not harmed. You must confess, Alan, for Einhasad sees all that dwells in your heart. Repent and be delivered!"

Alan gritted his teeth, rising quickly to his feet and staring straight into the Inquisitor's eyes, "Know _this_, Inquisitor: I am innocent of this heresy I am accused of. I have never once strayed from the tenets of my Order and my faith, and I never will as long as I breathe. I am not afraid of you, or this Inquisition, or any man living in this world. _Never forget that._"

Talbain rose to his feet, gripping his staff and pointing it at Alan, "Do you dare to deny your carnal relationship with the dark elf known as Mistress Darsh?!"

Alan shook his head, "I love her, I do not deny that."

"Do you deny that she is a Child of Shilen, an accursed dark elf?!"

"She is a dark elf, yes, but she is no servant of Shilen, whatever her bloodline may be. Evil is always a choice, Father, you should know that better than any of us."

"The Dark Elves are insidious creatures that hide in darkness and immerse themselves in black and profane magic! They are sinners of the worst, most blasphemous kind, who sully the very land with their corruption and spread darkness and disease everywhere! She is one of them, how can you…"

"Is it not written that Heaven's benevolence and mercy extends to all creatures that walk or crawl upon the earth, and that The Creator embraces all those who seek to live in upright and righteous ways? Do you believe that every dark elf is damned beyond redemption by the sins of their fathers? If a dark elf should forsake the darkness and seek to serve the light, would Heaven's gates be barred against such a person? What justice is that?"

Talbain slammed his staff down onto the floor, the crack echoing throughout the cavernous cathedral, "ENOUGH! I remind you, Alan Schezar, that you are on trial here, not the members of this Tribunal! I ask the questions and you will answer them!"

Alan clenched his fists, but sat down again, saying nothing more. The priest continued, pacing back and forth now as he replaced his wire rimmed spectacles.

"Have you ever taken profane oaths, or had discourse with demons or spirits of Shilen?"

"I have never taken a profane oath, and the only 'discourse' I have ever had with demons and the undead is to send them back to the fires of Hell where they belong."

"Have you ever learned or practiced black magic?"

"When I was a knight, I was instructed, as all knights are, in the Life Drain spell, but I had long forsaken that vile magic when I became a Paladin of the Venerable Order, and I have never since used it."

"Then perhaps, Paladin, your memory fails you; perhaps you can explain to me why it is that you aided the dark elves in freeing their king from the seal placed on him at grisly cost by the light elves and the humans? Why you aided them in performing a blasphemous piece of black magic to undo what the Church had a hand in doing?!"

Grindrolas clenched his fists; how did the Inquisitor know about that?! That mission had been shrouded in the utmost secrecy, and besides which it was the Church that sent Alan on the quest…how could they turn around and accuse him of heresy for it?!

"I performed no black magic in so doing."

"Are you denying your involvement?!"

"No."

"Then you are a heretic and guilty of black magic and consorting with devil-worshiping Shilenites!"

"No! I am guilty of no Heresy, and I have not performed any such black magic! I only collected the items requested of me by the dark elven elders."

Archbishop Holbien grinned devilishly, entwining his fingertips and chuckling quietly in self satisfaction. He had caught Alan now; he would never be able to tell the whole story because of his foolish and vaunted honor. He would pay for his disgusting dalliances with the dark elf whore, and would burn as a heretic, along with his whole heathen order, and soon all the wealth of the Steel Cross Brotherhood would belong to the Church.

The Inquisitor ruthlessly continued, "And what possible reason can you say you had other than unrepentant heresy to aid the leaders of the dark elves this way?"

"I…cannot say."

"You have no excuse!"

"I cannot say my reason."

"You are under oath, and you will tell me or I will find you guilty of heresy! Repent or be damned forever to burn in unrelenting agony in the deepest, darkest pits of Hell!…so help me if I must torture a confession from your lips to save your unrepentant soul, I will!" The Inquisitor raised his staff to strike Alan in the face, but a flash of silver zipped from the shadows and struck the carved angel, splitting it in half and ripping the staff from Talbain's hands with the force of the impact. The staff clattered to the stone floor, a long silver throwing dagger embedded through the chest of the carved wooden angel that adorned the top. The inquisitor stumbled backward, looking around furiously, "Who DARES?!"

"_Stupid priest…"_ The voice echoed throughout the cathedral, coming from the shadows that flickered against the stone walls, but impossible to locate. _"You arrogantly believe you know all the answers, that you alone possess supreme knowledge, but in truth you don't even understand the question you are asking…"_

Grindrolas smiled wryly, clamping his hand over Alan's shoulder, "Looks as though your reprieve has arrived, my friend."

Archbishop Holbein stood up, looking somewhat pale as he glanced around frantically, trying to locate the intruder, "Show yourself!" he screamed shrilly.

A pool of shadow formed on the floor in front of Alan's chair, spreading like flowing oil across the dusty stones. Slowly, the tall, slender form of a dark elf dressed in black leather rose out of the inky muck until he stood before the bewildered clerics. He was very slender, with medium length white hair that fell down over his right eye, all but completely obscuring it from view. His skin was pale blue, contrasting against the tight black leather that covered his form. His face bore a broad, malevolent grin as he looked down his nose at the frail form of the Archbishop, who had fallen back into his seat in sheer amazement at the dark elf's sudden appearance. "Wh…who the hell are you?!" the cleric demanded.

The dark elf slid his heels together, standing perfectly upright, and brought his arm across his chest, "I am the Abyss Walker known as Spider, a blood brother of The Steel Cross. I am humbly at the service of this court, and I bring evidence which the good Inquisitor will find most enlightening…" He bowed slightly, then straightened himself and produced a scroll seemingly from nowhere with a flick of his wrist, "I believe you already know what this is, Archbishop…" The color instantly drained from Holbein's face and his eyes went wide as he saw the parchment in Spider's hand.

The Inquisitor looked from the Archbishop to Spider, then back again, "What is the meaning of this, your grace?"

Spider interjected before the Archbishop could open his mouth, "Alan cannot answer your question, Inquisitor, because he was sworn to secrecy concerning that affair by none other than Archbishop Holbein himself. This document proves that it was the Archbishop who ordered Alan to carry out the quest to unseal the dark elf king. You see, it seems the Church ostensibly wished to open relations with all the races of the continent in the interest of promoting peace and justice throughout the land. That was only part of the reason, though…in fact we were able to discover that the dark elves paid the reverend Archbishop a very generous bribe in order to ensure that they would receive the help they wanted in releasing the king from his bondage. To that end, as part of his Trials to enter the Order of Paladins, Alan was forced against his numerous and vehement protests to aid the dark elves in breaking the seal. Alan could not tell you why he aided them because Holbein forced him to swear that he would never speak of it, because he knew that if it became known that the fathers of the church were dealing with devil-worshipers…well, you can imagine."

"How did you get that?!" Holbein demanded furiously. Spider merely smirked at him, "I have a talent for getting into places I'm not supposed to be."

Grindrolas smiled triumphantly as Spider handed over the scroll to Father Agostino, "Holbein found out through his spies that Alan and Darsh were lovers, and knowing that our Brotherhood has no prejudice against welcoming those dark elves who forsake darkness and fight for justice, he felt he had the perfect opportunity not only to shut Alan's mouth permanently, but a perfect excuse to disband The Steel Cross Brotherhood on false charges of heresy and claim all of our assets for himself. A clever, if overly ambitious plan, wouldn't you say, Inquisitor?"

Agostino read over the document, his expression becoming darker by the moment. He silently knelt down and picked up his staff, rolling up the parchment as he did so, "You will explain yourself, Archbishop Holbein…you will confess to me the unfettered truth, NOW!"

Holbein sat with his head bowed and his gnarled, withered hands gripping the arms of his chair as a low, malicious laughter shook his wizened form. "_You stupid pawn_…" he began, his voice dripping with arrogance and mockery, "Don't waste my time with your empty pronouncements…do you really believe you are anything but a tool for me to use and discard at my will? The so called Iron Hand of Orthodoxy...ha! Alan Schezar will be damned for heresy and the Steel Cross Brotherhood will be destroyed and there is nothing you can do about it!"

Father Agostino fumed, gripping his staff so tightly his knuckles turned ghost white, "You vile, filthy sinner! You DARE to use the Holy Church to satisfy your own greed?! You would dare to allow an innocent man to burn at the stake for your own grievous sins!? I WILL SEE YOU DAMNED AS USURPER AND BURNED UNTIL YOUR BONES ARE BLACK!"

"You will do NOTHING!" Holbein screamed, rising to his feet, "I have already been given the Pontiff's blessing to deal with this matter as I see fit! Even such a renowned Inquisitor as you is powerless against me!"

Grindrolas growled angrily, stepping forward and snatching the parchment from Agostino's hand, "The irrefutable proof of your guilt is right here, Holbein! You are condemned by your own words! If your corruption has spread so deep into the church that its justice cannot reach you, then I will tear down the entire rotten edifice and destroy the church and your power along with it! I will kill you myself if I have to, even if it takes my last breath!" The elf drew his sword, dashing forward and pressing the point against the Archbishop's throat. Holbein's eyes went wide and he choked, unable to speak.

"ENOUGH!"

All eyes turned to Alan; the Paladin was on his feet, his fists clenched tightly, "Grindrolas! Do not shed blood in the house of Einhasad…there is another way to resolve this…"

Inquisitor Talbain turned to Alan, his expression grim, "What is it you suggest, Paladin?"

"Holbein's sins are many and sordid; he cannot be allowed to remain in power as the Archbishop of Aden. But neither can the Holy Church be made to suffer indignity because of his sins, or because of my love for Mistress Darsh, however pure and right it may be…it would be devastating to the faith and the Church if his sordid misdeeds became public, and mankind is not ready to understand or to accept that a human and a dark elf may love one another purely…Archbishop Holbein will resign from his diocese and spend the rest of his days as a layman in whatever way he sees fit, and in return…I will go into exile forever and my name will be erased from the Church's memory."

Grindrolas turned to Alan, lowering his sword from Holbein's neck, "Alan, you can't be serious! You are innocent! Holbein is a villain, he can't be allowed to get away with this!"

"There are more important things at stake than our feelings, Grindrolas! I cannot allow good people to depart from the faith and fall victim to Shilen's temptations because of his impropriety…I have no other choice."

Holbein sneered, "What makes you think I will follow your worthless commands, you lowly Paladin!?"

Without a word Alan strode up to Holbein and wrapped his gauntlet around the disgraced bishop's neck, lifting him completely off the floor. Holbein choked and sputtered as Alan drew his face close and growled, "Do not _press_ me, sinner, or I will drag your worthless, rotting carcass out of this church and hang you in the town square with the proof of your guilt nailed through your greedy, blasphemous heart! Run from this place and never return, and if the Steel Cross Brotherhood ever finds that you have dared to desecrate the sacred name of the Church again, we will not rest until we have hunted you down and sent you to burn in the seventh layer of Hell where your damned soul belongs!"

With that, Alan threw the disgraced cleric back into his chair. Holbein threw down his cap and tore off his outer sacred robe, turning in terror and running out the back door of the cathedral without another word. Alan watched him go, then stood in silence, staring up at the towering cross above the altar. He had always believed in justice, in treading the righteous paths. He scorned the idea that justice and truth should ever be compromised. These were absolutes, he thought, and all Paladins were bound in sacred duty to devote every drop of their blood, every breath in their lungs to defending them, but here the truth would remain hidden forever, and the injustice against him could not and must not be undone. He believed that Heaven's ordained church was meant to defend virtue from all manner of evil, that good may flourish always…but it seemed that even those sworn to uphold the right could be turned by the devil's temptations and fall…

"Paladin Schezar…" Father Agostino said at length, "I have done you a terrible wrong…I am sorry."

Alan said nothing, merely turned and walked down the aisle of the church and pushed open the huge oak doors. The light of morning burst through the gloom of the church once again and shimmering off the polished surface of the Paladin's armour like the gleam of a thousand diamonds. And the memory faded like a dream, and darkness and silence overtook it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The world crashed in around his mind, flooding his senses with sight and sound that dashed the darkness of his dreaming to pieces. The fragments of his past bursting like so many bubbles reaching the surface as Alan gasped for air like a drowning man raising his head above water. He sat bolt upright, nearly toppling the young crimson haired woman who sat at his bedside. He glanced about, wide eyed and panting, unsure of where he was or what had happened.

The room was a small, ancient looking stone chapel lit by simple torches mounted in wrought iron fixtures along the gray stone walls. The windows - there were only three of them - were small and narrow, with simple arches at the top and lead seamed panes of clear glass set into them. There was a small stone altar beneath the window opposite the doorway, and a simple wooden cross hung above it. Alan found himself in a small, soft bed with a simple blanket over him, his body soaked in sweat. He was bare from the waist up, and as he rubbed his throbbing head, he discovered to his amazement that the wound in his head was dressed with a clean bandage. He took a few deep breaths, and his blurry eyesight slowly came into focus.

His cold, steely eyes came to rest on a young woman who sat on a wooden stool at his bedside; she looked to be in her late teens, with a medium build and long crimson hair. She had a pleasant face and fair skin, and a broad, genuine smile that seemed to make her glow. Her eyes were strange, a kind of iridescent blue-gray, like the clouds of a thunder storm at the very moment a bolt of lighting splits the sky. She dressed in simple white robes and wore a simple biretta perched atop her auburn hair. She gently reached out, touching Alan's shoulder with her fingertips, "You're finally awake! I'm so glad," she beamed.

Alan rubbed his eyes slightly, blinking as if to clear his mind and focus the new images that were bombarding him. "I…where…where am I?" he stammered, glancing back at the young woman. She opened her mouth to answer, when suddenly he was struck with realization and threw off his blanket, leaping to his feet with fists tightly clenched and looking around frantically, "Ashrael! Where is he?!"

The young woman, jumped up, gently taking hold of his arm, "Ashrael…do you mean that demon that was trying to kill you? I scared him away…I think…and we're safe in here for now. The children and I were able to erect a sacred barrier to keep him out of the Abbey…at least for the time being. But please, relax and…"

Her words were interrupted by a loud bang that echoed throughout the entire building. It sounded like something heavy slamming into the doors. Alan grabbed hold of her instinctively, shielding her with his body as he stood ready to meet whatever threat might emerge. A few moments of dead stillness passed, the silence pierced only by the steady pattering of the rain on the roof and against the streaked windowpanes.

"_ALAN SCHEZAR!"_ A booming, demonic voice rang out from somewhere in the rain drenched night, _"Do you hear me, Alan Schezar?!"_

"Ashrael…" Alan whispered, glancing about uneasily, as if checking each dancing shadow that played across the stone walls.

"_That little wench's barrier won't stop me forever, Exile! Your soul is mine to devour, and I will rip it from your body once this barrier fades heheheh…the sun is coming up now, so I'll leave you to wallow in your worthlessness for one more day, but tonight, Exile, you DIE!"_

The demonic voice faded away, its last chilling echoes drowned out by the din of the pouring rain. Alan relaxed slightly, releasing the girl and moving to the window nearest his bed. He peered out and could see the first rays of the rising sun splitting the dull, inky blue horizon. He rested his bandaged forehead against the window and breathed a deep sigh of relief, "He can't stand the sunlight…you're safe now."

The exiled Paladin turned around to face the girl, pausing a moment to consider his words as she stood watching him, her hands clasped in front of her as she regarded him with a mixture of compassion and inquisitiveness. He sighed again, running his fingers through his long, ashen hair. "My name is Alan…Alan Schezar," was all he said.

The girl smiled in her kind, genuine way and nodded, "I'm Evangelista Redgrave, sir, but you may call me Eva if you wish. It is my pleasure to meet you, though I wish it could have been under better circumstances."

"How did you save me from Ashrael?"

Eva blushed slightly, looking away, "Oh…it…it was nothing really…I sensed something very sinister approaching the abbey, and when I went out to investigate, I saw you lying in the graveyard. At first I thought you might be a demon in disguise, meant to lure me into the open, but I soon realized that you were a man and badly injured. When that demon showed up, I cast Signum Crucis and tossed some bottles of holy water into the graveyard, and I guess I must have surprised him because he was driven back…I'm still only in training, you see, and I'm not really that powerful yet, but Abbot Daowen says I'm improving and…er…sorry, I'm blabbing on and on again…ah..sorry."

Alan smiled slightly, shaking his head a little, "It's alright Evangelista…you were very courageous in saving me, and I owe you a debt of honour…" Alan's expression darkened and he added, "but I wish you had let me die instead of risking yourself that way."

"Don't say that!" Eva gasped, covering her mouth in shock, "Why would you say such a thing?"

Alan clenched his fists and looked away, turning toward the window and away from her, "I am disgraced and an outcast, broken and of no use to anyone…worthless." He rested his bandaged forehead against the cold pane of the rain streaked window, his fingertips tracing slowly down the rough, unfeeling stone as he remembered his lover, the shimmering white waves of her hair, the ashen smoothness of her soft skin, and the steady beating of her heart, all lost to him forever. He shuddered as he thought of how he had nearly brought ruin to his beloved brotherhood, how he had brought his closest friends to risk their very lives because of him, and how he had been exiled from the land of his birth and from his Brotherhood. His heart ached with grief and loss, tinged with self loathing.

"You…" Evangelista began hesitantly, moving closer to him, "You can't mean that…" She reached out, her fingertips shaking as they inched closer to touching the scarred flesh of Alan's back. She softly let her hand touch his cross-shaped brand, her fingers spreading out as she pressed her palm gently against his bare skin. She shut her eyes as a flood of emotion surged into her mind, her powerful empathic abilities opening the embittered, world weary Paladin's soul to her. She gasped softly as a raw torrent of pain, rage, grief and loss washed over her. She felt the darkness within him, the legacy of the dark elven blood of his family's ancient matriarch Iridia, felt the enormous spiritual powers he held within, and the burning, unrelenting devotion to justice and light that permeated the very core of his being. She felt his wounded faith, his ardent longing to serve Heaven's providence, and the overwhelming sense of despair he felt at his perceived failure. She was bombarded by fragments of his memory, images of terrifying demons and the walking corpses of the rotting undead, of harrowing battles against impossible odds and the lion-hearted courage and determination that saw him through all manner of horrors and dangers, of happy times with his fellow Steel Cross brethren. She saw images of a young man with long, black hair, Sieghardt, whom Alan raised and loved as his own son, whom he lost as Sieghardt was called by Heaven to travel across the world on a divine quest of his own, and of intimacies between him and Mistress Darsh, for whom he felt a deep, abiding, and passionate love. She saw broken fragments of a dream of a life that could never be, where he lived in happiness with his adopted son and his dark elf wife.

Tears began to stream down her cheeks as she whispered, "Darsh…"

Alan turned around suddenly at the mention of his lost love's name, grabbing Eva's wrist, "What are you doing?! How do you know her name?!" He stopped suddenly as he saw the tears streaming from Eva's iridescent eyes. She shrank away from him, from the ponderous weight of his suffering and his idealism, of his passion and conviction.

Alan released her hand, "I…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you, please don't cry…"

She shook her head, clasping her hands in front of her, "It's not that, Alan…I can sense things when I touch people…it's like their hearts open up and I can feel what they feel, and see their past. I've…I've never felt such hurt in someone before…such terrible rage and pain. You've held all this in for so long…it breaks my heart to think of it."

"Please…don't bother yourself with my burdens, you're too young to be concerned with such things," Alan said, inwardly cursing himself that his memories brought her such pain.

She looked up at him and in one motion threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, holding him in a strong embrace. He was stunned, unable to even move as his hands hovered motionless in the air. She stood up on her tiptoes, reaching up to stroke her hand over his hair and press her cheek to his, "It's alright, Alan…" she whispered quietly, "You don't have to be strong for me…you don't have to carry a burden for me or protect me from your past. Let yourself be comforted for once, instead of suffering for others…"

He was speechless. His heart ached with sorrow and pain as she held him like a child; she had seen his entire life, felt everything he felt, and she offered not judgment, not condemnation or disdain, but unalloyed compassion. She was like an angel of mercy, he thought as the tears began to flow from his eyes uncontrollably, the first person in his life who insisted that he let her carry him. He barely knew this girl, yet she had expressed for him a more profound and unselfish compassion than he had ever experienced in all his years. He wept silently, his body wracked with sobbing as she held him. At the very moment he had abandoned all hope and loathed himself most, she believed in him and uplifted his soul, refusing to let him sink into the abyss of darkness that called to him. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, holding her close against his chest. He felt her fingertips stroking up and down slowly along the scar on his back, and his sobbing subsided, his tears drying. "Thank you…" he whispered to her.

Eva drew back a little, blushing and rubbing her eyes, "I'm sorry…I shouldn't be so undignified…I just couldn't help it."

Alan chuckled and shook his head, wiping his own eyes, "Don't apologize, Evangelista…you've done more for me than you realize."

The scarlet haired acolyte smiled up at him for a few moments, clasping her hands in front of her, "You're a good man, Alan Schezar. It was the least I could do for you." She turned around and moved to the door, "The children should be finished their morning prayers I think…would you like to tour the grounds with me while they play outside?" Alan turned to the window as the morning sun's golden glow flooded in, warming the room with its light. He nodded to her, "Yes…I think I would like that very much."

Alan gathered his clothes from the foot of the bed where Eva had folded them neatly after washing the blood away, and donned his tunic and coat while Eva called for the children. After a few moments, the pattering of their feet on the stone floor could be heard as a dozen young children, the oldest no more than ten years old, came running and chattering happily. Alan smiled as Eva knelt down before them, "Are you all ready to go out and play for a while before training starts today?" A unanimous cheer erupted from the crowd of youngsters and they followed Eva to the huge oak doors of the chapel. She pushed them open and the morning light washed over them all.

The sea breeze was cool and refreshing as Alan and Eva stepped out into the morning light, followed by the children who scattered in every direction, laughing and shouting as they began their games. Eva walked silently, leading the Paladin along a cobblestone path lined with trees that passed under a large arched gateway. They strode along for a while as Alan gazed all around him; they were on the grounds of a large Abbey compound perched high on a cliff overlooking the shimmering azure sea. It was one of the most beautiful places Alan had ever seen, with ancient stone buildings overgrown with ivy, wrought iron gates and clean, well kept cobblestone walkways. The cemetery where Alan had passed out the night before was north of the building with the chapel, enclosed in a large stone wall with a wrought iron gate. The headstones were clean and well cared for, fresh flowers laid on many of the graves. The pair turned right as the passed under the archway, and strode toward a stone platform perched precariously on the very edge of the cliff and sheltered under the shade of a towering oak tree. There was a stone dome with a cross atop it supported by four large, sturdy looking marble pillars built on the platform.

Eva skipped up the steps and moved right to the edge of the platform, standing with one hand pressed against the marble column and letting the sea breeze ripple through her scarlet hair and around the bottom of her robes. She heaved a happy sigh and sat down on the edge with her feet dangling above a two hundred foot drop to the crashing waves below. A tinge of dread ran through Alan as he watched her so carelessly set herself at the edge of a lethal precipice. "Hey…be careful!" he said with considerable concern in his voice.

She merely giggled at him, turning back to look over her shoulder, "I've come here since I was a little girl. I like to sit and watch the ocean and think…"

Alan sighed and smiled a little, leaning against one of the pillars as he gazed out over the seemingly endless sea. They remained there a long while, watching silently as the waves rolled over the endless horizon and the sea breeze wafted over them. At length Alan broke the silence, "So, Evangelista…you already know everything there is to know about me. Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?"

The young acolyte folded her hands in her lap, swinging her feet and bouncing them off the stone wall of the cliff. "Well," she began, "My parents were killed when I was very young, about three, I think, in a terrible war that ravaged Rune Midgard. An errant knight who found me in the ruins of our home took me and brought me here, where the monks took me in and raised me. Ever since I was a little girl I've been able to see spirits and sense the presence of demons and undead, so Abbot Daowen encouraged me to serve God as an acolyte and use my talents to help people. He taught me that we are all given special talents, and whatever those talents might be, we should use them to help people as much as we can. I guess the monks of the St. Capitolina Abbey are really my family…so I don't get too sad when I think about my real parents…I can't really remember them."

Alan listened silently to her story, leaning against the pillar as he watched her sitting on the edge of the cliff, silhouetted against the rolling blue sea. Eva brushed her hair up over one of her ears, reclining and resting on her palms as she gazed out at the ocean, "I don't know yet what I really want to do with my life, but I think I'd like to become a priestess. I want to heal the sick and injured, and spread the gospel of hope to everyone…a kind of darkness has come over the land lately…an uneasy feeling of evil hangs in the air. All over Rune Midgard, there are reports of the dead rising from their graves and preying on innocent villagers, and of demons and specters roaming the land. Even the ordinary monsters have become more aggressive and cruel. Some monsters that were once shy and timid have become ravenous and bloodthirsty…that's why the monks are all away. They've all gone to Amatsu Shrine to pray and seek God's guidance, and to make offerings and prayers for the deliverance of the people."

"They left you in charge of the children while they were gone?"

Eva nodded, sighing a little, "I'm scared, Alan…"

Alan said nothing, turning away and sighing to himself as the demon Ashrael entered his thoughts again. Ashrael was a foul, avaricious demon from the deepest, darkest pits of Hell; Alan had faced him once before in battle, and had nearly lost his life before destroying the monster, or so he thought. Ashrael was talented in the art of necromancy, of raising the dead from their rest and forcing them to do his bidding, and it made him formidable as an enemy. Not only that, but Ashrael's insufferable pride and rabid hatred of everything pure, righteous and good meant that his defeat at the hands of the Paladin meant that the demon hated Alan almost as much as he hated the host of Heaven. It was the most vicious, unrelenting, bitter and spiteful kind of hatred imaginable, one which would not be sated until the demon gave Alan the most gruesome, slow and agonizing death imaginable. Nothing would stand in his way.

"Don't be afraid…we'll think of something…" Alan said, as much trying to reassure himself as her, given the circumstances. Although he would gladly give his life to protect Eva and the children, it was likely that the hateful demon would gleefully slaughter every last one of them and paint the abbey with their blood. Having long since given away his sword and shield, Alan was no match whatsoever for the formidable Ashrael, having barely survived their first encounter.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye caught Alan's attention. He turned and glanced toward the graveyard, and saw a figure standing among the stones, seemingly staring back at him. He looked like a knight dressed in chain mail armour, wearing a pointed helmet and carrying a sword and a shield with a double headed eagle emblazoned in black across its gleaming white surface. The figure shimmered and wavered, as if seen from afar on a hot summer day. Alan blinked, and the figure was gone. He furrowed his brow, glancing down at Eva to see if she had noticed the man as well. She remained sitting and watching the waves below.

"Hey…who was that knight I just saw? Does he live here as well?"

"What knight?"

Alan unfolded his arms, a sense of dread coming over him as he feared Ashrael's machinations. He dashed from the platform and ran across the open grass to the cemetery gate. He ran in among the stones to where the figure had stood, but he found no trace of him anywhere, not even an impression in the grass where he had been standing. Eva came running up behind him, panting as she leaned on her knees, "Alan, what's wrong?"

There was no trace, not a sign as Alan spun around, looking everywhere, "I swear I just saw a knight standing here in the graveyard…he was wearing chain mail armour, a pointed helmet and he had a white shield with a black two-headed eagle painted on it…"

Eva looked puzzled. She glanced around, shaking her head slowly, "There are no knights who live here…wait…wait a second, did you say a two headed eagle?"

"Yes…it was a black two headed eagle on a white field…why?"

Eva's eyes went wide as she was struck with realization. She shivered slightly, turning her gaze to a wrought iron fence that surrounded a large set of doors set into a stone opening buried in the ground, what appeared to be the entryway into an underground crypt. "There's something I think you need to see…" she said. Without another word she walked over to the wrought iron fence and undid the latch, swinging the gates wide. She knelt before the doors and tugged on them, "Come on, help me!"

Confused, Alan moved to her side and strained on the doors' handles, finally wrenching them open as a blast of stale, earthy smelling air washed over them. Together, they moved down the stone steps into the inky shadows of the silent crypt. At the bottom of the long staircase, there was an unlit torch on the wall, some oil in a bucket and some flint stones stacked on a simple wooden shelf bolted to the stone wall. Picking up the torch, Alan dipped it in the oil. Then he set it into a rusty iron bracket that was attached to the wall away from the oil bucket and struck the flints together, sparking onto the torch and setting it ablaze. Taking the torch in hand, he ventured into the shadows, the inky blackness retreating from the flickering orange glow of the torch.

"What are we looking for…?" Alan asked, glancing back and forth at the rows and rows of shelves carved into the stone walls of the crypt, some containing only dusty bones and bits of linen, others housing more elaborate wooden caskets or stone sarcophagi. Finally, the narrow passage opened into a cavernous chamber. The pair strode into the middle of the room and looked around them.

It was a large vault with a domed ceiling. The surface of the dome was painted with a once-brilliant fresco depicting the Kingdom of Heaven, its pillars upheld by a multitude of shining angels whose gossamer wings spread wide in flight. The very apex of the dome was a gilded equilateral cross with gold wrought rays of light shining from it. The dome was upheld at four points by colossal statues of armoured knights, their heads bowed, their swords held in front of them with the tips of their sheaths resting between their stone feet. The lowermost ring of the dome rested on the shoulders of the immutably stoic stone knights, and there was a message carved in Latin that ran the entire circumference of the room. In a lowered floor under the dome were four large stone sarcophagi.

Alan's breath caught in his throat as he gazed upon the magnificence of the tomb; he turned around slowly, reading the inscription around the ring, "Blessed are they who die that others may live; Greater love hath no man than this: that a man lay down his life for his friends."

"Look at this…" Evangelista said softly, moving to one of the four stone coffins. She took a deep breath and blew the thick layers of dust from its carved surface, then brushed away the rest to reveal a bass relief of a large double headed eagle carved into the lid.

"The same symbol as on the knight's shield…" Alan breathed, quickly coming to the realization that the knight he had seen was the very same who lay interned within this stone coffin.

"How did you know about this place?"

"One day while Abbot Daowen was tending to the crypt, I followed him, and he brought me here. He pointed out this coffin and told me the story of the knight who is buried inside. He was a knight of Glastheim known as Gustav. Long, long ago, before Glastheim fell and was overtaken by darkness, it was the seat of the most glorious kingdom on earth. It was a shining city of peace and justice, ruled by a righteous king who gathered to himself all the greatest and bravest knights of the land. Gustav was a young knight from the eastern forests who was renowned for his strength and stamina, and his determination to face any foe. During the Midgardian Heresies, a vicious and bloodthirsty band of heathen mercenaries from the south threatened to destroy the then young town of Prontera. The knights of Glastheim were all engaged in a fierce battle in the north when word arrived that Prontera would be sacked and all the people killed if the king's knights did not intervene. The headman of the town begged the king to send his armies to aid them, and although it grieved him deeply, the king could not spare his men, for they were in grave danger of losing the battle for Aldebaran in the north..."

Alan listened in silent awe as Eva continued, almost able to see the past reflected in her stormy blue eyes as she spoke, "Hearing this, the courageous Gustav rode forth from the fray and pledged to save the town of Prontera by himself, as the king could afford to spare a single knight from the battle. The king protested, knowing that it would be certain death for Gustav to go alone, but the knight begged his king to allow him to go, to allow him to protect the innocent people of Prontera with his life. The king reluctantly agreed and Gustav rode like the wind to the town.

He arrived just in time for the first volleys of arrows to strike the town's then wooden palisade. He rode forth from the gates like an avenging angel striking down from Heaven, and rode straight into the middle of the mercenary army. He roared like a lion and struck down many men, borne swiftly by his trusted Pecopeco Kaiser. When his peco was struck dead beneath him, he fought on foot, refusing to abandon his friend to the seething mob. Hundreds of men fell to his shining blade, though arrows rained down on him and swords and pikes pierced his flesh. Finally, wounded, soaked in his own blood and the blood of his enemies, and surrounded by the corpses of hundreds of the mercenaries, Gustav felt the last breaths of his life slipping away. By now the mercenaries were terrified of him, thinking Gustav must be an invincible demon from Hell come to claim their souls, for despite spearing him over and over, shooting him with their arrows and slashing him with their swords, he refused to die, stubbornly standing between them and the innocent people of the town. Finally, as the mercenaries had been fought to a standstill, their leader came forth from the crowd, his sword in hand.

Gustav stood his ground and confronted the mercenary king, a man named Saladin, and defiantly ordered him to surrender. Saladin lowered his sword, staring at the mortally wounded Gustav in awe, 'How is it possible that you, one man, can best all my mercenaries? Why do you fight although your body begs for death?' he asked.

Gustav replied, 'Because innocent lives are at stake, and I gladly give my life to protect theirs. In the name of God, I command you to lay down your arms and leave here, leave these people in peace!'

Saladin was much astonished at this, as he had never seen a man of such conviction and courage before. He knew that God must be on the side of Gustav and the king of Glastheim, for no mere man's strength alone could defeat his band. On that very spot the king of the mercenaries fell to his knees and begged God's forgiveness, and the forgiveness of Gustav, and vowed to serve the king of Glastheim with all his heart and all his soul, until the day he died. At that moment, Gustav's life left him and he slumped to his knees in a pool of his own blood, pierced and mutilated by their spears and arrows. Saladin and his warriors uplifted the body of the martyred knight and brought him to the gates of Prontera under a white flag, and wreathing his body in flowers, they carried him on a silken litter through the town and out the northern gate, bringing him all the way here to the sea, to St. Capitolina's Abbey where they laid him to rest and grieved and prayed for his soul for three days and three nights without rest. After that, they rode to Glastheim and pledged themselves forever to the king's service, telling him all that had transpired."

His fingers trembling, Alan reached out to touch the cold stone lid of Gustav's coffin. He ran his fingertips over the Imperial Eagle of Glastheim carved into its surface as he tried to absorb the meaning of everything that had transpired. Why had the spirit of Gustav appeared in the graveyard for Alan to see? Why did he lead them down to his grave?

Suddenly realization struck Alan and he stepped back from the coffin, his hands hanging at his side. He sank to his knees, crossing himself and clasping his hands prayerfully, "May God bless your soul, Sir Gustav…I thank you with all my heart for this gift, and I beg your forgiveness that I must disturb your rest this way…Veritas, Aequitas, Fidelitas brave knight…Amen."

Eva watched him with curiosity as he worked his fingertips under the lip of the coffin's lid, straining to lift its heavy cover. Eva moved to his side, hesitating a moment, but soon realizing what Alan meant to do. She pushed on the lid along with Alan, and slowly the stone cover slide aside inch by inch. They pushed it right to the edge, swinging it around so as to keep it from falling to the floor, and they gazed on the face of Sir Gustav of Glastheim.

Inside the coffin lay the dusty, decaying bones of the knight, his body encased in his torn and bloodstained, rusted chain mail armour and his empty eye sockets staring out eternally from under the rim of his dull, rusty helmet. His right arm was laid across his chest, his bony, gauntleted fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword, which was laid down the middle of his body. His shield lay on his left side, the dull, worn white paint and black imperial eagle still visible under the layers of dust and grime. A golden urn containing, presumably, the ashes of his slain pecopeco was tucked into the corner of his coffin at his feet. Alan gazed into the darkness of the knight's empty eyes for a moment, no doubt left in his mind now that this was the work of Divine providence, a message and a gift sent to him from on high. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around the dusty, oiled leather sheath of Gustav's blade. "Thank you for letting me borrow this, my friend…I will use your blade and shield for a righteous cause, rest assured."

Lifting the sword free of the knight's dead fingers, Alan held it up horizontally and wrapped his fingers around the hilt. Slowly, he pulled it free of the sheath, and to his astonishment, a shining, well oiled and perfectly preserved steel blade emerged. Pulling the sword free, Alan held it up and watched the torchlight flicker and shimmer on its gleaming surface; the edges were still sharp, and the words "Forever, unto the death" were etched into its blood groove. _Forever, unto the death_, Alan thought; that was a message meant for him. He would always be, no matter where we was, a Paladin and a servant of Heaven's Wrath, the holy shield and righteous sword of judgment against the wicked and all those who would threaten the innocent. He knew this now without question, and he would prove it with the last drop of his blood if need be.

"I am the instrument of God, messenger of the divine punishment of Heaven. Pray for forgiveness, foul demon Ashrael, for the hour of thy judgment is close at hand."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"The sun is setting…" Alan commented somewhat nonchalantly, leaning against the wall of the chapel as he gazed out the lead seamed window toward the western horizon. Several hours had passed since he and Eva discovered the tomb of Gustav of Glastheim, and the final preparations for Alan's battle with Ashrael were nearly complete.

Eva knelt before the altar, upon which was laid a rusty, dented old suit of armour, and whispered fervent prayers over it as she sprinkled it with holy water. Finally she crossed herself and stood up, "I've finished blessing the armour we found in the storage room, Alan…it isn't a particularly powerful blessing, but it can't hurt, I guess…"

Alan smiled warmly at her, "Thank you, Evangelista. It will be a great help against Ashrael and his necromantic puppets."

The young acolyte glanced apprehensively toward the setting sun outside the chapel windows. "The barrier we set up will be dissolved by now…we won't be safe in here. Do you think that sword and shield are strong enough to defeat him?"

"The light can shatter any darkness, Eva…it isn't the sword or the shield or even me that will defeat Ashrael, but the holy power of Heaven. I am finished running…I will stand and fight here and now, even if it means my death, and I will be the instrument of God's wrath upon this demon. He will pay for his crimes tonight."

Eva nodded, "I believe in you, Alan. Come back to us!" With that, she took the remaining children and hid them away in the cellar of the abbey, barricading herself and them inside. They began to pray together as Alan pushed open the heavy oak doors and strode out into the encroaching twilight that shrouded the abbey and its grounds in foreboding shadows. He boldly walked out along the stone pathway, his armour clinking quietly with his footsteps, his gauntleted hand resting on the hilt of the martyr's sword slung from his belt.

The moon began to creep over the horizon as Alan stopped at the intersection of two pathways. He looked around for a moment, scanning the inky shadows for a trace of his foe. Behind him stood the lookout platform where he and Eva had sat that morning and watched the waves. It looked desolate and gloomy in the darkness. He watched and listened, waiting for his foe to show himself.

"So you finally came out to play with me, did you, Exile?"

Alan spun around, his sword and shield at the ready as he frantically scanned for the source of his enemy's voice. He suddenly noticed a flicker of white from the edge of his vision and looked up to see Ashrael standing atop a stone arch that spanned the cobblestone walkway a few feet away.

The tall, gaunt figure of a man met Alan's gaze. He was clothed in tight black leather, with belts crisscrossing over his torso, arms and legs. His hair was stark white and hung below his waist, unrestrained as it blew wildly in the breeze. His sunken eyes were blood red and bore a look of malevolent insanity, unspeakably cruel and malicious as they met the Paladin's steely gaze. He had pointed ears reminiscent of those of an elf, which were pierced in many places with gold hoops, rings and chains that bridged between the earrings. Atop his tight leather straightjacket he wore a tattered black leather coat that billowed in the breeze. The wispy figure shook with quiet, maniacal laughter, his body bent back, his gloved fingers entwined in the long white bangs that hung down around his face as he cackled at Alan, "Ahhh, how pathetic you've become, Exile…it's going to be so delicious to tear the broken soul from your corpse…_so delicious_…hehehe…"

Alan drew his blade and pointed it straight at the demon in disguise, "Empty threats of a coward demon who hides from the sun and disguises himself behind the face of a man! Come down and face your judgment!"

Ashrael crouched down, gripping the edge of the stone arch between his feet and staring through strands of his wild white hair at Alan's resolute face, "Oh don't be so hasty, my dear friend…I've prepared something truly magnificent…a gift to you from the depths of Hell!"

The moment Ashrael spoke those words, Alan saw a flash of something huge and dark from the corner of his eye; he spun to the side just in time to see a huge shadowy figure plummeting toward him from the crest of the nearby Abbey rooftop. He was barely able to raise his shield in time to deflect the blow as a massive, bloodstained and rusty cleaver crashed into his shield and skipped off, slashing through the armour of his sword arm and wounding him, the crushing blow sending him soaring across the courtyard and slamming him hard into the stone wall at its edge. He shook his head, trying to clear his blurred vision, "What the…?!"

His words were cut short as he focused on the hulking behemoth that stood before him; the massive frame of a dark figure, his height close to seven and a half feet, dressed in a tattered brown trench coat came into focus. The huge man wore a pallid mask over his face, around which his dirty, wild, straw-like hair sprouted. His wrists and ankles bore heavy steel manacles, their chains broken and clanging in the wind as they swayed back and forth. Beneath his coat he wore a tattered, bloodstained and mouldy prison uniform and his hands and feet were bound with blood spattered bandages. The figure's skin was foul and necrotic, though the beast's huge musculature remained un-withered; Alan knew immediately that this monster was the risen dead, and a foul aura of hatred and pure darkness swirled around him. The hulking zombie raised one of his two massive meat cleavers up to his face and a long, serpentine tongue slipped through a slit in the mask to lick the fresh blood from the blade's razor sharp edge. A low, twisted, malevolent laughter emanated from behind the mask, echoing off the stone walls of the courtyard.

"Magnificent, as I promised, isn't he Exile!?" Ashrael cackled, "I was wandering through the woods, hiding from the accursed sun, and do you know what I found?"

Alan unsteadily rose to his feet, bracing himself against the wall as he glanced up at the demon, growling angrily under his breath at being so easily blindsided. Ashrael continued mockingly, "The cursed grave of a bloody murderer buried in unconsecrated ground…"

"Bastard…!" Alan breathed

"Oh yes, this one is a real bastard all right! This fine fellow has been languishing in Hell for a long time, and oh how very drenched in sin his soul is! His seething hatred is positively exquisite, isn't it? This one killed so many innocents in his lifetime that when they hung him, they buried him in unconsecrated ground and cursed his name forever…it made it quite easy for me to summon his wicked soul from Hell…and believe me, he's ready, willing and able to carve you into bite sized chunks, Exile! Hahahahaa!"

Alan rose to his feet, setting his shield and sword just in time to parry a savage slash from the lumbering undead murderer. His strength was incredible, the necromantic rituals of Ashrael amplified by the unrepentant hatred and wickedness of the murderer's soul, the innocent blood staining his hands making the demonic magic all the more potent. Alan was barely able to hold back the weapon, managing to deflect it and sidestep, striking with a hard slash to the murderer's midsection. The creature twisted around and blocked the strike with one cleaver, back fisting Alan with the other hand and sending him crashing to the ground. He was barely able to roll out of the way as another crushing overhead slash of the bloodstained cleavers split open the stone walkway where Alan had just been lying. The Paladin rammed his boot against the monster's ankle, tripping him up and sending him crashing to the ground.

Alan rose and spun his blade around, preparing to spear the murderer through the face, but before he could strike, he felt the tip of one of the cleavers slash across his breastplate, carving a gash in the steel but not penetrating his flesh, and the crushing blow of a huge fist connecting with his face. He sailed through the air like a doll thrown by a child, slamming so hard into one of the pillars of the lookout point that it cracked and he fell at the base of the column with a crash.

"You stupid fool!" Ashrael screeched between bouts of cruel, mocking laughter, "Don't you realize it?! You are a broken shell! The child of a false god and the sorry scrap of a forgotten age! Are you too blind to see it?! Darkness rules this world, Alan Schezar! The wicked have triumphed, and everywhere the pitiful works of man are scorched in the cleansing flames of chaos!"

Alan reeled, his sight becoming dim. The malicious words of the demon echoed in his consciousness as he lumbering hulk of unliving flesh slowly shambled toward him, preparing to split him in half like a gutted fish.

"Demons and the living dead are spreading over this world like a plague, and there is nothing you can do to stop them, you pitiful fool! Where is your beloved god now?! Why is Heaven silent when mankind cries out for salvation! YOUR GOD HAS FORSAKEN YOU! Now die, you loathsome human, and wallow in your despair forever!"

The Paladin's eyes slipped closed and he slowly staggered to his feet, walking toward the murderous zombie that thundered closer with every step. Alan stopped in the middle of the path, blood streaming down his face and staining his armour as his head hung down slightly, obscuring his face in shadow. His sword hung loosely from his grip, his shield held at his side. A vicious, triumphant smile curled Ashrael's lips as he awaited the gruesome death of his most hated mortal enemy. The undead murderer raised his right hand high above his head, intent on cleaving the paladin in half with one stroke. A frozen moment passed.

In a flash of motion, the cleaver crashed down, but Alan's shield rose up at met it above his head; at the very same instant Alan's feet cracked and shattered the stones beneath them, sinking to the earth beneath as though his weight had suddenly increased a thousand fold, "ULTIMATE DEFENSE!" he roared, clenching his fists as his body flashed with a brilliant, otherworldly light.

The cleaver shattered into a thousand shards, splinters of its blade embedding themselves in the barrel chest of the hulking zombie. The undead creature reeled back in shock, roaring in unbridled rage as his attack was utterly defeated. He stumbled, cocking back his fist and driving it toward Alan's face. The Paladin merely grinned and met the punch face on; instead of being crushed, Alan was unmoved, as though the murderer had punched an immovable boulder. The rotten bones in the zombie's arm and hand all shattered at once, splintering through his decaying flesh and grotesquely deforming it. The beast stumbled back in agony and confusion, its smashed arm hanging uselessly at its side. Alan, blood streaming down his face, stood upright and grinned up at Ashrael, whose mouth hung open in total disbelief.

"_Yea though I have dwelt in darkness, deliver me into the light!_" Alan began, standing perfectly still as the murderer gathered himself and raised his remaining cleaver high, dashing toward the Paladin with seething, unrepentant loathing.

"_Let only truths pass my lips, Let my sword rise up in righteous vengeance against the wicked, and bring justice and mercy to the innocent!_"

"DIIIIEEEEEEE" the zombie roared in its inhuman voice, charging ever closer to Alan.

"_Let my feet stray not from the paths of righteousness; let my heart be not afraid in the face of evil!_" Alan suddenly lurched forward as the creature attempted to strike, ducking under the blow and slamming his shield savagely into the belly of the beast. The earthshaking blow sent the murderer sailing as easily as he had tossed Alan before, his huge body crashing to the ground several feet away and his cleaver clanging uselessly on the cobblestones. He tried to rise to his feet, but stumbled like a drunkard, stunned by the ringing blow from Alan's shield. The Paladin stepped forward, holding his sword across his body and snapping it forward; the sword spun through the air, slamming into the middle of his enemy's chest and impaling him.

"_What is dark in me illumine, what is low raise up! That I may become a holy shield and righteous sword, the vengeful striking hammer of justice! Until the long night is ended, and dawn shines eternal…_"

The zombie roared in agony, attempting to grasp the hilt of the blade, only to have his hand charred to a crisp by the blessed blood of the martyred knight that stained its grip. Foul black smoke spurted from both sides of the wound in the zombie's chest, the blade's holy steel burning away the unholy filth of its necrotic flesh.

Ashrael's eyes went wide as Alan's empty fist began to glow, an otherworldly light swirling around it, "No….NOOO!" he screamed, but to no avail.

Alan snapped his arm forward, "_Veritas, Aequitas, Fidelitas_…..AMEN!"

A column of brilliant light erupted from the ground around the zombie who stood writhing in agony, paralyzed by Holy power. Tiny white hot spheres, like mini suns, swirled and wafted around him, gathering toward the sword. The spheres burst, engulfing the hapless corpse in a blinding eruption of brilliant, searing light. The foul creature exploded into million flaming pieces of charred flesh which evaporated into little more than ashes and dust before they hit the ground. Alan's blade sang as it spun through the air, rocketing back at him from the force of the explosion. He merely extended his open hand and caught the blade's hilt, the shining steel coming to a complete stop, extended from Alan's outstretched hand.

"No…NO…IT'S NOT POSSIBLE! DAMN YOU, PALADIN!" Ashrael sputtered, stepping back in his terror and plummeting to the ground at the base of the stone arch. Alan grinned, spinning his blade and raising it high above his head, its point downward. With all his strength, he slammed it into the ground so that it stood upright before him, then clasped his rosary, holding it to his lips and closing his eyes, "In the name of God, I purify this house….SANCTUARY!"

Veins of light began to spread from the point where the sword's blade stuck into the earth, expanding until they formed a huge ring encompassing Alan and Ashrael. The veins of light began to split and change until they formed concentric rings of interlocking script, spelling out sacred prayers against devils. A huge equilateral cross spread from the center of the circle, dividing it into four equal quadrants and completing the sanctification. At that moment, the demon bent double as though he had been kicked in the stomach, his mouth gaping in silent agony. He tore at his face, arching backward and unleashing an inhuman scream of pure suffering as his flesh began to melt and drip from his body. Two broad, leathery wings erupted from the demon's back and horns sprouted from his head as the human façade was burned away, revealing his true demonic nature.

"Darkness has spread across this land, and the agents of evil are everywhere, that is true enough…" Alan said as he wrapped his gauntlet around Gustav's sword, pulling it up from the ground, "But you were wrong about just one thing, Ashrael the Blasphemer, Spawn of Sammael the Unclean…"

Ashrael wretched as Alan spoke his true name, the first step in beginning the rite of exorcism. The demon clutched its belly, turning is pain twisted visage toward the approaching Paladin. Alan continued, "God will never forsake His beloved children, and the Wrath of Heaven will not spare those who desecrate its law!"

The demon chuckled softly, its gaunt, horned face turning upward with a cruel, malevolent smile as his black eyes watched Alan approach. He spread his wings, his clawed fingers flexing as he stood upright, staring into Alan's cold, steely eyes, "Heh heh heh…impressive, Exile…you broke my little toy. You do still have a little spunk left in your worthless carcass. No matter…I'll just have to destroy you another way…"

"Shut up!" Alan barked, pointing his blade at the lithe black body of the white haired demon, "In the name of God, heed my words! This is your final chance…"

Ashrael cocked his head, raising an eyebrow, "Oh is it? Final chance for what, I wonder…?"

"Your sins are many and grievous in the eyes of God …but it is not too late. Get on your knees and earnestly beg God for forgiveness, repent and you _may_ yet be saved. This is the only time I will say it."

Ashrael's shoulders began to tremble, his head bowing so that his long white hair obscured his features, "Sympathy for the devil, eh..?" he chuckled softly, then his whole body began to shake with cruel laughter. He threw his head back, spreading his arms and laughing with maniacal abandon, "You blind, brainwashed idiot! You actually want me to repent?! Do you think just because I get down on my knees and say, 'Oh Lord, forgive me!' that Heaven's gates will fly open and the host of angels will just welcome me back with open arms?!"

Alan remained silent, dropping his sword to his side as he watched Ashrael dispassionately. The demon snapped his face up, staring with hate in his eyes toward his despised enemy, "You think this god of yours is such a benevolent ruler, so full of grace and love for his so called 'children'…I was a child of that tyrant, once! But I learned, oh yes I learned how cruel your vaunted Heaven can be!" The demon clenched his fists, his visage twisted into a mask of pure loathing as he spoke, "We fallen angels were cast out of Heaven mercilessly, and Hell was waiting for us, all ready with torments and suffering that would make you wretch and scream in mindless terror if you witnessed them! Your god created that Hell, human, and bound us in it for eternity! I SPIT ON HIM!"

Alan shook his head, "Such a fool... you and your fallen had everything…you were the most luminous of all the angels, and you destroyed yourselves because you loved no one but yourselves. You never learn, do you?" Alan stared right back into Ashrael's eyes, his expression stoic and immutable, but sad rather than vengeful.

"What?!"

"God did not create, Hell, Ashrael…you and your fellow demons did. Hell is nothing more and nothing less than the manifestation of your hatred for God, the source of all that is good. The devils' misery is all of their own making, and of their own free will they wallow in it like pigs in their own filth, just as you are now. You could have been redeemed long ago, but by your own twisted will you chose to heap suffering and misery upon yourself and your fellows, to drown yourselves in a bottomless mire of sin…I once loathed your kind bitterly because of the destruction you wrought upon mankind…because of those I loved who were killed by demons and the undead…but I've come to realize that you are the ones who suffer the worst despair and misery because of your sins…" Alan paused a moment, gazing directly into the hateful demon's dark eyes, "_I pity you._"

Ashrael's body began to shake with rage, black tears of pure wrath beginning to flow from his sable eyes, "You pity ME?! How dare you!? YOU ARE _NOTHING_! HOW DARE YOU PITY ASHRAEL THE BLASPHEMER?!"

With a snarl of hatred, the demon clasped his hands in front of him, his eyes narrowing at Alan, "I will break your soul for your self righteous arrogance, you loathsome, pitiful little worm! Come forth, Sword of Darkness, for I summon thee…MYSTELLAIN!"

As he spoke the incantation, Ashrael spread his palms apart and a swirling black eddy of dark energy appeared between them. He slowly drew his hands apart until the shadow formed itself into a long black sword, its blade spiked with cruel barbs and reverberating with a vile, malicious aura. The hilt of the sword looked as though it was made of gnarled black wood, and in the center was an oblong bulge with a slit across the middle. As Alan looked on in shock, Ashrael grasped the handle and the oblong bulge snapped open, revealing that it was in fact a large demonic eye, its fiery orange iris flitting back and forth until its hateful, inhuman gaze fell upon Alan. The Paladin felt a cold chill run down his spine as he stared into that evil eye.

"It burns! Why have you summoned me, Ashrael!?" the reverberant, demonic voice of the cursed sword echoed off the stone walls of the abbey, "What is this place that burns me with holiness, and who is this human that stands before the might of Mystellain so brazenly?!"

Ashrael chuckled cruelly, lifting the blade of Mystellain and looking over it at his stunned opponent, "This annoying Paladin has consecrated the ground, preventing me from using my dark arts…I offer his flesh and soul to you, Mystellain!"

The sword's cruel, staring eye burned into Alan, as if it gazed into his soul. "I sense power within this one…and great wrath…mmm yes, wrath and sorrow…the darkness in his heart is exquisite. Alan…Schezar…the bloodline of a human and dark elf halfbreed flows in your veins…give in to the darkness in your soul and become the agent of chaos you were meant to be!"

Alan stumbled, his eyes wide as he felt the invasive, malign influence of the evil sword penetrating his mind. He felt its temptations and suggestions working on the darkest, deepest parts of his mind, but he summoned up his strength, gritting his teeth, "IRON WILL!"

His body flashed and his form became steady as a rock. He smirked and looked up, staring straight into the eye of the sword, which widened as the tendrils of its psychic invasion were instantly and violently forced out of the Paladin's now unassailable soul, "Never! Evil is always a choice, and I will never betray my Creed and my Brotherhood! I will destroy you both, right here and right now, in Heaven's name!"

"Brave words, Paladin, as always…but your patriarch was slain in the act of placing my Master Beleth under seal…let us see if your fate will be the same!"

With that, Ashrael flashed toward Alan with incredible speed, his own power magnified by the malignant influence of Mystellain. Alan barely had time to parry the strike as he found himself face to face with the grinning demon. Ashrael shifted his weight and struck again, slashing and weaving with incredible speed as Alan parried, blocked and countered in a desperate fight for his life.

"Too slow!" Ashrael cackled, suddenly behind him, but his strike was parried by Alan's skilful maneuver, and the demon's overconfidence was punished with a crushing blow from the blessed shield. Ashrael stumbled backward, reeling as the world spun around him, "Bastard!"

He was barely able to parry a series of Power Strikes, their force magnified by the holiness of Gustav's blade. He staggered back, slashing viciously at Alan's neck. The Paladin weaved and ducked under the strike, thrusting the point of the martyr's blade into Ashrael's left shoulder. The tip ripped into his flesh and the demon screamed and staggered back, his foul blood pouring out of the wound and soaking his arm, "It burns!...DAMN YOU!" he spat. The droplets of inky blood dripped onto the ground, evaporating moments later like droplets of water in a frying pan.

"That is no ordinary weapon, you fool! That blade has been anointed in the blood of a saint! I cannot use my full power because of this damnable consecration; KILL HIM BEFORE IT DESTROYS ME!" Mystellain fumed, its devilish eye quivering in terror as it felt the holy power of the sword combined with the consecrated ground threatening to crush it into dust "I cannot resist its power forever!"

Ashrael screamed in fury, leaping at Alan and slashing with all his strength. The crushing blow rang off Alan's shield, only to be followed by another. Summoning a swirling aura of dark energy, the demon slashed the blade at Alan, unleashing a huge sphere of black power that ripped through the air at incredible speed. The blast slammed into Alan's shield, ripping it from his arm and sending it sailing through the air. Before he could react, the demon flashed forward and slashed viciously. Alan barely parried it, but he was off balance and the blow knocked him to one knee. The bloodthirsty demon threw all his power into grinding his blade against Alan's, hoping to force it back into his neck.

Alan gritted his teeth as Ashrael laughed in his face, "Feel your weakness, human! Know that once Mystellain has devoured your flesh and torn your soul to pieces, I will unseal Beleth and chaos will burn this world and everything you love to ashes!" he chuckled cruelly, staring into Alan's eyes with a burning, unrepentant hatred the paladin had never seen before, "That little bitch in the abbey and her precious children will be the first to die, and then I will hunt down your little dark elf slut and torture her until she curses god's name and begs me for death! A pity you won't be able to join her in Hell!"

Darsh! _No!_ For her sake, if nothing else, he could not fail here! He WOULD NOT fail! Alan gritted his teeth, summoning all of his strength.

He fervently called out to Heaven in silent prayer, slowly forcing Ashrael back, "YOU…WILL…NOT…WIN!" he roared, his sword shattering through Mystellain and carving a deep gash across Ashrael's chest. The demon's eyes went wide with agony and horror as the shattered Mystellain fell away with a blood curdling scream and rotted into dust on the consecrated ground. Ashrael's foul blood spattered over Alan, staining his armour and face as he fell backward, watching his torn flesh gush his black lifeblood. Before he could even hit the ground, he felt the blade of Alan's sword ram through his chest. The Paladin roared in fury and ran full tilt with Ashrael impaled on his sword, slamming the demon into a tree and nailing him to the trunk with the anointed blade.

Alan stumbled back and blood erupted from Ashrael's mouth, staining his teeth black and running down his chin and neck. He trembled slightly, his head hanging down. He attempted to grasp the sword's hilt, but his clawed hands were burned just as his puppet's were. He gasped in pain, letting his arms drop to his sides. He looked up at Alan, disbelief in his black eyes, "How?!…how could I be defeated by _you_?!"

Kneeling before the tree, Alan gasped for breath for a moment before painfully getting to his feet. He looked into the demon's face, "I meant what I said when I told you to repent…I truly hoped that you would, but this is your choice, and it's the only way left now."

"Fool…" Ashrael said with a chuckle, coughing up more blood, "Only a fool would show compassion to a monster like me…heh heh…so go ahead, exorcise me…send me back to my prison. I will only be summoned again by another power hungry human like Beleth, and when I set my master free, everything you know and love will end!"

"No."

"No…?"

"No, you've gone too far this time, Ashrael. You were wrong about something else, too."

"Heh.." Ashrael said, coughing up a few more droplets of blood, "W..what's that?"

"You said that my ancestor, Sir Kaden, was slain in battle with Beleth, but you're mistaken. He wasn't slain; he sacrificed himself to place Beleth under seal, with a kind of exorcism that no demon can ever escape: The Martyr's Reconing. All he needed was a holy relic, in his case The Steel Cross itself, and the sacrifice of his own life…my fate will be the same as his, after all, it seems…I'm going to sacrifice my life to send you to the Ninth Layer of Hell."

"No…no! No, you can't!" Ashrael pleaded, his smug expression melting into a look of bewildered terror, "You can't do that! Not the _Ninth Layer_!"

Alan reached into his pouch, pulling out a small bottle of holy water. He opened the cap, then drew his thumb across the blood oozing from his forehead. Tipping the bottle, he soaked the blood on his thumb with the blessed water. Ashrael squirmed, trying to break free of the sword that pinned him to the tree, but to no avail, "Wait, _please!_ I'll give you everything you want! Alan, I can give you back your life, Darsh can be yours again, _PLEASE!_" he pleaded desperately.

Reaching up, Alan marked the sign of the cross in blood and holy water on Ashrael's forehead. The demon stiffened, his mouth opening wide as though he were screaming in agony, but there was no sound as the blessing stole his voice. Alan clasped his rosary in his hands, bowing his head, "Oh Lord of Heavenly Hosts, whose name is exalted in all creation, hear the pleas of your unworthy servant…"

Pinned helplessly and without a voice, Ashrael could only watch as the Paladin continued his prayer, "By this my blood and thy grace I cry unto thee, forsake not thy children and send unto us thy angels, that righteous judgment may fall upon the head of the unrepentant marked with the cross. Open up thy gates and let thy justice descend from Heaven like cleansing fire!"

As he looked on in horror as two huge luminous shapes began to form behind Alan. The light burned his eyes, and he was forced to look away, but when he looked back he saw two figures towering over him. The first was clothed in a shimmering white hooded robe which hid the searing light of his visage from being seen directly. In his right hand he held a huge sword, and on his left arm hung a broad white shield emblazoned with a blood red cross. His feet tread a path of fire, and his huge wings were covered in hundreds of eyes that stared as though they saw all things in creation all at once. He was the warrior Archangel Michael, whose name meant "Who is like to God?"

The second figure, the Archangel Raziel, was clothed in a long, flowing robe and wore a huge silver chain across his body from which hung a gigantic book. The book was bound in seven places by golden latches, and from another chain around his neck hung the seven golden keys. He wore a blindfold over his eyes, though his head was barely visible through the blinding glow of his halo, and from his back two wings of flame spread wide. As Alan's prayer continued, Raziel reached back and plucked a flaming feather from his wing, raising his book with the other hand.

Michael raised his sword aloft and glowing chains erupted from the earth and ensnared Ashrael, binding him and rendering him completely unable to move.

"Let the judgment of Heaven's righteous wrath be upon this unrepentant demon, and let the name of Ashrael the Blasphemer be expunged from the Book of Existence forever. By the ancient covenant, I die that others may live; in the name of Almighty God, let justice be done by the Martyr's Reconing!"

The seven keys glowed and the seven latches opened, and at a stroke Raziel wiped the name of the demon from his book forever; at that moment, a cursed seal of damnation appeared on Ashrael's forehead. Michael's sword came down, striking the seal and flooding the night with a blinding, otherworldly light as the ritual was completed.

Alan floated in that indescribable light for what felt like an eternity; the angels and the demon disappeared, leaving him scourged and exhausted beyond anything he had ever felt. He was overwhelmed at the unmasked presence of the Archangels, trembling at the grace and magnificence of God's love they emanated. He felt himself falling, his eyes slowly closing as he felt his life slipping away. He remembered all those he loved, their faces filling his mind as he felt death approaching, and he thought with a smile that dying for them was a worthy death.

Suddenly, he felt a shock and was jolted violently as life began coursing through him again. He crashed down from the all encompassing light as darkness flooded in around him and he felt gentle arms wrap around him and hold him tightly. Disoriented, he gasped for breath, then blinked as he realized he was staring into the stormy blue-gray eyes of Evangelista. She smiled gently at him and held her glowing hand against his chest, "Heal!" she whispered fervently, and Alan once again felt strength and life returning to his body. He looked up at the tree where Ashrael had been pinned, but there was nothing but a black scorch mark with the blade of Gustav's sword stuck through it. "Wh…what happened..?"

Eva smiled, tears streaming from her eyes. She said nothing, merely hugged Alan's cold steel armour against her chest with all her strength. The Paladin was speechless; she had somehow managed to save him from death at the last possible moment, disobeying his order that she stay hidden in the Abbey. He sighed slightly, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close as she sobbed quietly, "It's alright now, Evangelista. It's finally over."


	5. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

There was a silence and stillness here that struck Alan each time he entered. The sullen, immutable forms of the graven knights that ringed the tomb loomed over the grey, dusty stone sarcophagi clustered in the center of the circular room, standing in eternal vigilance until the end of time over the bones of saints and martyrs. After a moment, Alan approached the stone coffin containing the bones of St. Gustav, the knight of Glastheim's golden age who single-handedly saved a young Prontera from being sacked. The Paladin ran his fingers over the carved relief of the two headed imperial eagle, then pushed aside the lid. The empty, eternally staring eye sockets of the martyred knight greeted him once again.

"I feel so unworthy to stand before you, my friend…" Alan said softly, one gauntlet resting on the rim of the coffin, the other grasping the hilt of Gustav's holy blade. "I let myself fall so completely in love with Darsh…I let her get so deep in my soul that it wounded me more deeply than any demon or monster ever had when I lost her…I can't ever let that happen again…"

"Do you still not understand the lesson, Paladin?"

Alan whirled around to find the portly figure of the jovial Abbot Daowen standing behind him; he was a middle aged man, short and stocky, with rosy cheeks, a shaved head and a fluffy white beard. He had a dishevelled look about him, like someone who had hastily gotten out of bed, but at the same time he radiated an aura of wisdom and intense compassion. The robed monk smiled broadly, his rosy cheeks puffing out as he did so. Alan blinked a few times in surprise, unsure what to make of the intrusion. "What do you mean, Father? What lesson?"

The kindly abbot moved over beside Alan, resting his hands on the edge of the sarcophagus. He gazed at the dusty bones of the Saint lying before him, contemplating them in silence for a moment before he spoke, "When things seemed the worst, the most desperate, whom did you think of? What face came into your mind?"

Alan was silent for a moment, looking downcast, "My Mistress Darsh…" he admitted, sounding dejected.

The abbot let out a bemused chuckle, "Yes…and whom do you suppose your ancestor thought of? Do you imagine it was anyone but his love that he thought of when things were worst? The person who was most precious to him in this world? And what about our friend Saint Gustav here? Do you not imagine that he had someone to protect when he rode out alone to face an army?"

"To devote one's self to another, to sacrifice one's self for another, is this not the greatest gift a man can give? You should not be ashamed that you loved her so much, Alan. You should let that love uplift you, as God's love uplifts you, and drive you on when it seems you can go no further. She would have wanted it that way, I think."

The Paladin couldn't help but smile at this. He nodded and gently set the sheathed blade back onto Gustav's remains. He carefully placed the shield back into the coffin at the decayed knight's side, and after reciting a prayer for him, closed the stone lid once again to seal the Saint away in peace, hopefully for the rest of eternity.

The sun was shining brightly as the Abbot and Alan emerged from the dark, musty tomb. The Paladin stood out in the shimmering light for a moment, letting his eyes slip closed as he felt the cool summer breeze blow over his face, bringing with it the scent of flowers and the salty sea. He opened his eyes to see Evangelista running and playing with the children, her red hair billowing in the wind. The kindly abbot leaned over and whispered with a knowing smile, "She's very fond of you, you know…perhaps you ought to stay here at the abbey…"

It was a good idea, Alan thought, but no. His heart still bore scars of the world he left behind, and she deserved better than that. He shook his head, "This isn't where I belong right now…there is still too much darkness in this world, I could never be happy knowing that people were suffering while I sat here in peace. I'm going now. Please tell Evangelista I wish her the best, and I won't forget her. Goodbye."

With that, the Paladin walked away, leaving behind the peace of the abbey as he set out on a new path in a new kingdom fraught with strife and plagued by evil forces. He faced a land he knew nothing about, filled with evils he had yet to understand and confront, yet even in this strange land, he knew he would always have a home.

THE END


End file.
